


I'll Have What She's Having

by floosilver8



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Rom-Com AU, Sherlock Feels, Sherlolly - Freeform, Wedding Planning, consensual but tipsy sex, mollock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-19
Updated: 2014-05-27
Packaged: 2018-01-25 16:47:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 15,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1655507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/floosilver8/pseuds/floosilver8
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0098635/"><em>When Harry Met Sally</em></a> (1989) Sherlolly AU fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 2001

**Author's Note:**

> I include references to at least two other Rom-Coms. Bonus points if you catch them.
> 
> I was hugely inspired by [conchepcion](http://archiveofourown.org/users/conchepcion/pseuds/conchepcion)'s [Leave Me Breathless](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1297459/chapters/2693083) \- an AU using _The Wedding Date_. It is beautiful to behold, as is everything she writes.

_“Oh, God. Why did I agree to this? Why couldn’t I say ‘no’ for once?”_ Molly Hooper found herself on the M11, sharing a car with Sherlock Holmes, and filled with regret. She’d started out trying to be friendly, which dissolved into politeness, but his lack of a response and surly demeanour began to piss her off completely.

Molly had just received her Master of Philosophy in Pathology – with distinction – from the University of Cambridge and was setting out to complete a PhD from the Imperial College London. She could have stayed at Cambridge for the PhD but she wanted something new and exciting out of life. Nothing was happening to her there, and she desperately wanted something to happen. London was the only logical place. Bigger city, more people, more to do. Happening. She would drive her late-father’s classic mini down and sell it for a small fortune. Everyone wanted to get their hands on one of these nowadays. It would be a piece of cake and help set her up for a comfortable young adulthood.

Sherlock had just been kicked _out_ of the University of Cambridge. Well, technically he was still on probation, but he wasn’t going back so why leave that door open? He _had_ been studying for his PhD in Chemistry, but after running off five supervisors there was absolutely no one left in the department willing to work with him. Also, he’d taken a few too many liberties with the chemical stores. And no one wanted to be liable in case he overdosed on campus.

This unlikely pair was thrown together by happenstance. Molly was friends with basically everyone at uni including Victor Trevor. Vic and Sherlock had been assigned to the same residential college and were going for the same degree – and shared a similar relationship to illegal substances. Sherlock was _supposed_ to return home to Durham, but that was never going to happen of course.

When Vic realised he was planning to bolt, he convinced Sherlock to go to his brother Mycroft in London instead. And he didn’t have to worry about Sherlock jumping off the train because it just so happened that he knew someone who was driving to London that very day.

So there they were sitting on the M11, stuck in grid-lock traffic going zero kilometers an hour somewhere between Great Chesterford and Newport. What was supposed to be a two-hour trip at the absolute maximum was now stretching into hour four and they weren’t even half-way there.

“I’ve just texted a mate about the traffic report, apparently a lorry turned over. It’s going to be a while before they clear it,” she says finally breaking the silence.

He just nods, not drawing his gaze from the countryside. Molly knew what was wrong; she’d seen it a hundred times with some of her friends. His knees had been bouncing up and down for the entire trip, and his fingers constantly picked and fidgeted at the side seams of his trousers. Sherlock was jonesing for whatever was his drug of choice. After a few more minutes of silence he lets out what can only be described as a growl before practically shouting, “I can’t take this anymore! I’m having a fag.” He has the cigarette at his lips and lit before Molly can protest even the slightest bit.

It’s not that she minds that much – she wasn’t a teetotaller by any means – but two deep drags later and Molly can’t breathe for all the smoke in her tiny car. Her coughs and splutters don’t go ignored. “I’ll just...roll down the window,” he says sheepishly. He takes deep drags, puffing out perfect circles of smoke between his perfect lips.

Of course Molly noticed his chiselled features. The kid looked like he was made of marble by one of the world’s great master sculptors, for God’s sake. But that was all purely physical, the jury was still out on his personality – and she wasn’t interested in relationships to begin with! It didn’t matter what she felt. She had her instructions to drop him off on Gloucester Road and that was to be the end.

“Have you ever had a cigarette, Molly Hooper?” he scrutinises her from the passenger seat.

“Why?”

“I bet you haven’t.”

“Oh, well, no. Not really.”

“What does that mean?”

“Well, I’ve taken a drag or two.”

“No, you haven’t. ...Do you want one now? We’re going to be here for a while.”

“No, I’m ok.”

“I know you _think_ you are. This is supposed to be your grand adventure, right? Live a little.”

“By killing myself with tobacco and nicotine?”

He just nods and grins, holding a new fag out for her like a dare. She considers him for a moment, sighs and takes it, placing it carefully between her lips. He pulls out his lighter again and she leans in to light it up. She feels nothing but awkwardness at her forced casual movements. She manages to take a few puffs without choking on the smoke, but it’s not a pleasant experience.

“How did you know about my ‘grand adventure’ as you put it? Vic doesn’t even know I’m gone for good.” Vic had warned her that Sherlock was some type of genius but she didn’t know all the details. She was just told to look out for being cut down repeatedly.

“It’s written all over you.” He gives her a sideways glance that almost makes her feel small but she shrugs it off.

“How do you mean?”

“Never mind,” he says while stubbing out his cigarette in the car’s pristine ashtray. She doesn’t feel like pressing it. “Give me that if you’re not going to finish it.” He plucks the cigarette from between her fingers where it had just been smouldering for the past few minutes. He takes deep drags without any hint of self consciousness.

Sensing the air had lightened a bit, Molly decided to try conversation to pass the time. “So, how long have you known Vic?”

“A year.” He continues to puff and stare out the window.

“Oh, nice. I’ve been friends with him since third year of undergrad.”

Sherlock’s brow knits in scepticism, “No you haven’t.”

“What?” she says in mild annoyance. “Yes, I have. I’m pretty sure I would know better than you.”

“He’s not your friend.”

“He’s not?” she would never have said they were tight, but her heart sinks at the realisation that maybe Vic secretly hated her. “He...always _seemed_ so friendly.”

“No, I mean, men and women can’t be friends.”

“Wait, what? Why not?” Was she going to have to listen to some patriarchal conservative lunacy?

“The sex factor always gets in the way.”

“What sex factor?” She has no idea where this is going.

“No man is just friends with a woman he finds attractive,” he says matter-of-factly, stubbing his second cigarette out next to the first.

Molly sits considering that for a moment. “But a man can be friends with a woman he doesn’t find attractive?”

“No, he pretty much wants to have sex with her too.”

“I see...” she desperately wants to poke holes in his argument that completely dismisses a huge, multi-faceted portion of human sexuality. “Does this also apply to lesbians? What about homosexual men?”

“Meh, not my area,” he rolls his eyes.

Obviously he wasn’t really interested in probing further into his theory. “Uh-huh. So you just want to have sex with all of your female friends, as well as every female you meet?”

“I don’t ‘do’ sex or ‘friends’.”

“Yes you do- I mean, you just said Vic was your friend.”

“I said no such thing. You incorrectly came to that conclusion. I said I’ve known him for a year. That was all.”

“Ah, right, my mistake.” His glib comments still bother her and she wants to poke him back. “It’s too bad.” He glances sideways at her. “You would be the only person I knew in London. ...And sex is really rather wonderful.”

He snorts out a laugh and scrutinises her again. “Not that you’d know, of course.”

Her eyes pop wide in annoyance, “What? Yes, I would.” He just raises one eyebrow at her sceptically. She tries to keep up the act but ultimately sighs and relents. “Ok, fine I haven’t. How could you even tell?”

“Molly’s Big Adventure.”

“That’s dumb. You can’t keep using that.”

“You also confirmed it almost immediately. Sometimes guessing pays off.”

She just sighs and stares ahead at the road. Suddenly, the traffic starts to crawl forward. She restarts the car eagerly. “Oh, thank God. I need the loo. I’m stopping at the first place I see.”

Molly pulls into the next town and finds a small cafe to serve as a pit stop and grab a quick lunch. She and Sherlock sit in a booth by the windows.

“What would you like?” a tired-looking server asks.

“Coffee,” says Sherlock bluntly. They’d already had a back-and-forth in the car about how he wasn’t going to eat anything. But of course, she was hungry, and she was driving, so she got to make the decisions.

“I’d like the green salad with a whole-grain roll and salad cream on the side, please. I’ll also have tea with milk and digestives but only if it’s English Breakfast, not Earl Grey.”

“No tea if it’s Earl Grey?”

“Yes, tea but then no milk or biscuits.”

Sherlock turned from the window to stare at her during the exchange. How was she to know he had the same feelings about tea?

“Okay. Sure,” the server looks between the two before walking away.

They sit in almost complete silence for the quick meal. Sherlock looks out the window and grunts distractedly when she offers to share her digestives. He doesn’t take one, apparently keeping up the “not eating” façade. On the short walk across the car park Sherlock takes the keys from Molly’s hand and lets himself into the driver’s seat. Molly can only incoherently protest.

When he starts the car she panics for a second that he’s going to take off without her so she jumps in the passenger side, letting him take the wheel for the remainder of the trip south.

He’s a fine driver, and seems to know exactly how to avoid traffic once they enter London’s city limits. They pull up to a large, white columned building in Kensington around 3pm. Molly gets out to open the car boot for his bag and reclaim the keys. She still has to drive back across town to her new flat in West Acton.

“Well,” she stands awkwardly at the kerb, “so long?”

She’s startled when he holds out his hand but she shakes it firmly. He turns and walks briskly away without a word.


	2. 2004

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The second time we met, he didn't remember me."  
> "That's not true, I remembered you."

Molly was hired by St. Bart’s Hospital immediately after earning her PhD. Last month, she had been invited to present at the British Association for Cytopathology conference in Birmingham. It was a thrilling opportunity for someone so early in their career.

Her boyfriend, Dr. Joe Ford, saw her off at Euston rather early in the morning. She wasn’t usually one for public displays of affection but Joe insisted on snogging her thoroughly on the platform.

When they broke apart after a moment she could feel someone watching her. A tall man with dark curly hair stood only a short distance away, stubbing out a cigarette on a support column. He stares at her for a moment before boarding the first carriage.

Joe notices the exchange and looks at his girlfriend in concern, “What was that about?”

“Thank God he couldn’t place me.” Molly says turning back to Joe, “I drove from Cambridge to London with that man three years ago and it was one of the most trying experiences of my life.”

“Oh?” he asks.

“Yes. He was sullen for the entire excursion and stole my keys so he could drive – without asking!”

“Well, hopefully you won’t have to sit with him.”

“No, my seat’s two carriages down.”

 

Of course she would be assigned to a seat across from him. She just had that sort of luck. They were sharing a table, and each had an empty seat next to them. He’s texting on his phone and doesn’t look up after she’s seated.

“Holly Hooper?” he says suddenly.

“ _Molly_ Hooper,” she replies stiffly.

“Molly! Right.” He finally glances up.

“Nice to see you again, Sherlock,” she can’t not be polite now that he remembers her.

“Mmm,” he squints at her and she ignores him, opting to organise herself for the journey. “You’ve been dating that other doctor for what, a month?”

“Four weeks. How could you tell?”

“Public displays of affection of that magnitude on a train platform. You have an overnight bag which indicates a short trip, not a lengthy time apart, nor a long distance, which would call for sentimental displays. By and large busy ‘career couples’ won’t bother with a big send off unless they’re still trying to impress each other. But at the same time, it would have to be after you’d gotten to know each other well enough to also feel obligated. Studies show that the psychological and physiological ‘honeymoon’ period lasts only a month and a half.”

“Huh. That was...very good.”

He glances back at her quickly. “Really?”

“Yes, of course,” she smiles and relaxes. Maybe this wasn’t going to be terrible after all. “But I _could_ now live in Birmingham and my trip to London was the overnight. Did you think of that?”

“Your ticket says ‘Round-Trip’,” he points to the stub laying on the table.

“Shoot. Thought I had you for a second. You really are a genius, aren’t you?”

“I’m just highly observant. It’s a skill anyone can acquire. You already know how, you’re a pathologist.”

“That’s sort of true, I suppose. Although, my skills of observation are solely focused on medicinal and anatomical knowledge and uses.”

“Well you must be very good, St. Bart’s snapped you up right after graduation.”

“Wait, how did you know about my job?”

“Business cards in the mesh pocket under the flap of your bag, and given the timeline from when we left Cambridge...” he trails off.

“You remembered what I studied but not what my name was?”

“It was all filed away. I just needed the correct combinations of reminders.”

“Filed away?”

“Mmm. Memory technique. I’ve been perfecting it for years.”

“That’s impressive.” She organises her notes for her lecture on the table. “May I ask why you are going to Birmingham?”

“Serial murder.”

“Pardon?” she actually freezes in place, suddenly fearful for her life.

“Someone is killing people and I’m going to figure out who it is. I have an appointment with the Birmingham Police force.”

“Oh. Is that what you do now? Law enforcement?”

“It’s more of a hobby.” He looks out the window and seems to close off from the conversation.

They sit in silence for several minutes as the train proceeds north and out of London.

“The tea trolley will be here in two minutes, fancy some coffee?” Her head snaps up at his question. “Just friends,” he clarifies.

She narrows her eyes at him, “I thought you didn’t believe men and women could be friends. And I thought you didn’t ‘do’ friends.”

“When did I say that?”

“On the ride down from Cambridge.”

“No...Yes. I did say that. I was also high.”

“You drove my car while high?!” she doesn’t want to make a scene but she’s also outraged so her voice is low but tense.

“Did I? Maybe. I deleted it.”

“Deleted?”

“Yes, it wasn’t important to the narrative so it wasn’t filed away.”

“Well that’s a fine thing! You could have killed us!”

“I would never have put your life in danger. I probably wasn’t. No...of course, not. I didn’t drive until after we stopped for lunch. Oh! And I remember being very annoyed so I couldn’t possibly have actually been high. It doesn’t fit my physiological profile.”

“Thank God for small favours, I suppose.”

The tea trolley and the attendant make their way down the aisle. “So...coffee?”

“No, thank you,” she’s still in shock at the revelation of what might have happened three years ago – but thankfully didn’t. She returns to reviewing her notes.

 

They sit mostly in silence for the remainder of the journey. She tries to remain calm when Sherlock steals a page of her lecture to read, and then shuffles it back into the stack. Luckily it was correctly ordered otherwise she would have given him an earful.

He just nods and says, “Your methodology is sound. The lecture will go well.”

“Thank you,” she says both flattered and self conscious.

When they alight in Birmingham Molly politely says, “It was nice seeing you. Good luck on your case,” before exiting the carriage. Of course, even though she had a head start, his long strides soon bring him level with her. Their simultaneous pace is short lived as he overtakes her and makes it to the taxi queue first. She sighs internally resigning herself to taking the next one. He surprises her when he opens the door and beckons her inside. She can only mutter a weak “thank you,” feeling thoroughly embarrassed at her assumption of him.

He gently closes the door after her and quickly says, “Good day, Molly Hooper,” before walking away and getting into the next waiting cab.


	3. 2008

DI Greg Lestrade was a semi-frequent face around her pathology lab. She had been made Specialist Registrar last year and considered Bart’s her home having worked there so long. Working cases with Scotland Yard was always the most thrilling aspect of her job, and it didn’t hurt that the Detective Inspector was such a nice guy.

“Molly, I feel terrible for what I’m about to do, but I have nowhere else to turn.”

“What’s wrong, Greg?”

“Well, I sort of have a consultant on the really tough cases. I need him on this new one because I am seriously out of my element.”

“Aw, no. I’m sure you’re doing great.”

“Yeah, well, this consultant is coming in today and he can be a bit of a nightmare.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, he’ll tell you everything about your life just from looking at you, and he has no filter so the whole room is going to know when your wife is cheating on you,” he rubs the back of his neck absentmindedly.

“Oh, Greg!” Molly exclaims when she realises. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“No, it’s ok. We’re working it out. I know it was a moment of weakness. We’re...we’ll be fine.”

Molly just nods. “Well, I’m here if you need to talk, and I can handle whatever this guy throws at me.”

“I hope so. Listen, I have to get back and get the troops rallied. Just show him the bodies and try not to punch him.” Lestrade pushes open the lab doors and nods as he exits.

“I’ll do my best.” Molly calls after him.

Sherlock Holmes strides into her lab 10 minutes later. They both stand stock-still for a moment while their brains play catch-up.

“Hooper,” he says with a nod.

“Holmes,” she smiles sweetly. “You’re the Yard’s consultant?”

He just nods slowly and doesn’t hide the fact that he’s giving her the once-over from her feet to her head.

“That’s amazing!”

He walks around her other side, not breaking his gaze from her body. She looks down at her feet and straightens her clothes even though nothing is amiss. She waits for the update on what he instinctively knows about her life.

“Still dating Dr. Ford?”

“Yes,” she says cautiously.

“You live together now.”

“Yes. In Tufnell Park.”

“Mmm. You should finally get that cat you’ve always wanted.”

“Pardon? Why?”

“Companionship.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’ll find out soon enough. Have you noted anything unusual about the bodies as yet?” He strides back out the doors, coat billowing epically behind him, expecting her to follow – which she does happily. The case takes two days to solve and she loves every minute of working with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BONUS SCENE:  
> Joe had been mentioning the new nurse on his rotation an awful lot recently. Molly was sure there was nothing going on, but it still unnerved her. The warning from Sherlock didn't help matters. Not able to take it anymore she finally confronted Joe head-on. He denies it of course, but after a few seconds of silence admits there could be something there.
> 
> “The other day I took on nine extra patients just to keep talking to her.”
> 
> “Nine? Wow.” Molly surprises herself when she smiles at him and feels relieved. She reassures him that it’s okay, that she only wants him to be happy. They spend a few minutes making sure the other is genuinely okay with the break up.
> 
> As he starts to leave he asks, “What about you? Is there someone else?”
> 
> She thinks for a second, “No, no.” Something she can’t explain makes her smile, “But there’s the dream of someone else.”


	4. 2010

In February, he traipses into her lab like he owns the place. He’s done this about once a week for the past two years. Quite a bit has happened in those two years. She amicably split up with Joe about a month after Sherlock’s return to her life. She did finally get a cat about three months after the breakup – and a new flat long before then.

Usually, he’s alone or with Lestrade. This time, there’s another man in tow. Sherlock introduces Dr. John Watson with very few words. John’s very polite and absolutely normal which sort of shocks Molly. She tries to help them with the case but Sherlock is particularly impatient today.

“Lestrade, why don’t you tell Molly about your impending divorce,” he snaps in an effort to distract everyone.

“What?! When did this happen?” Molly asks, in shock.

“Friday,” Lestrade says with a heavy sigh. “She came home from work and said, ‘I don’t know if I want to be married anymore.’ I was calm. I said, ‘Why don’t we take some time to think about it?’ You know, so we don’t rush into anything.”

“Right.”

“The next day, she says she’s thought about it and wants a trial separation. Just to try it, but we’d still date. Which is just...I mean, I _got_ married so I could _stop_ dating. And the last thing you want to do is date your wife who is supposed to love you!” Sherlock throws him a scathing look across the lab to quiet him down. “So I asked if she even loved me anymore. And do you know what she said?”

“What?”

“‘I don’t know if I’ve _ever_ loved you.’”

“Oh my God! That’s horrible!”

“But then she tells me that she can sublet a mate’s apartment for a while. I’m still in shock, right? And then the doorbell buzzes. I’m still reeling from her last words, and there are Man With A Van movers on the front step.”

“Wow.”

“I know. It’s awfully suspicious. So I asked her when she booked the movers, but she won’t say anything. So I ask the guy, ‘When did she book this?’ ‘A week ago,’ he says. A week!”

“What?!”

“Man With A Van knew I was getting a divorce a week before I did,” Lestrade slumps against the lab table and sighs. Molly gives him a one-armed squeeze and makes low soothing noises.

“Except it’s a lie,” Sherlock says not looking up from his work.

“Pardon?” Molly says.

“Her story is a lie. She’s been having an affair with the P.E. teacher. They’ve moved in together.” Sherlock says flatly.

“Oh, Greg!” Molly looks concerned again but Lestrade just nods confirming he already knew that bit. She gives him another squeeze. “Someone once told me marriages don’t break up because of infidelity. It’s just a symptom that something else is wrong.” She genuinely means that to be comforting.

“Yeah, well that symptom is fucking my wife.” He rubs his hand over his eyes in frustration. “Sorry. Listen, do you wanna go for coffee sometime?”

Before she can answer, Sherlock exclaims, “BALSA WOOD!” and strides out of the lab, expecting his entourage to follow. Lestrade never finds out if Molly would have said yes.

 

In November, Mary Morstan comes into Molly’s life. Mary is a new paediatric nurse at Bart’s and they meet by happenstance in the queue for the first floor coffee machine.  There was a big scene with the machine not turning off after Molly’s cup was filled and coffee soaking her trousers then rushing across the floor. Mary was quick-thinking enough to pull the machine’s plug out of the wall, and was nice enough to lend Molly her extra set of scrubs for the rest of the day. After that they found other things they had in common besides their workplace; favourite television shows, bands, alcoholic beverages, etc.

Mary is quite the life of the party, every time they get together. Except, she’s also very unlucky in love, with a string of exes who were all married to other people while they dated.

 

In December, John invites Molly over for a Christmas Eve get-together. After adding her presents to the pile, she chats with John’s new girlfriend Jeanette, and helps Mrs. Hudson mull wine. Sherlock plays a carol or two on his violin and Lestrade suggests they play Pictionary.

Molly panics a little at the prospect of having to draw something recognisable. When it’s finally her turn there’s a small kerfuffle over the answer.

Mrs. Hudson just keeps shouting, “Baby fish mouth! Baby fish mouth!” like it will suddenly become the correct response.

“That’s not it, and it’s not even a thing!” John scolds her, very wrapped up in the game.

“Time!” Lestrade announces.

“It’s _clearly_ 'Baby Talk!'” Sherlock practically shouts. “I’m done with this game!” He grabs his laptop and sulks on the sofa away from everyone else.

They do cut the game – and the evening – short at that point.

 

The next day, Molly has to work – because she likes to let people with families have the day off. Before she leaves, she opens the presents she had been given last night. Mrs. Hudson gave her a new scarf, John got her a fancy tea set, and Greg Lestrade put a John Lewis gift certificate in a beautiful card. She nearly falls on the floor when she opens her gift from Sherlock, a first edition _Anatomy Descriptive and Surgical_ – better known later as simply _Gray’s Anatomy_.

She texts him as she hails the one cab on the high street. _“Thank you for my book. It is too much, truly. –Mx”_ She doesn’t get a response until nearly lunch time.

_“You’re welcome. Thank you for my spy glass. –SH”_

She did get him a rather beautiful, antique, telescoping spyglass from an antique store. It had more of a “naval/pirate” vibe to it than anything, but she felt it was “Sherlock” nonetheless.

_“If you’re not busy, and you’re able to get a cab, I have some fingers and toes you’re welcome to pilfer today. -Mx”_

_“Delightful invitation. On my way. –SH”_

He arrives an hour later, rosy cheeked and smelling of the cold outdoors. They examine the properties of each phalange for their usefulness in his upcoming experiment. When they’ve selected the best, he gets to put the remainder in the incinerator (pushing the button is his favourite thing, apparently.)

When her shift ends, she invites him over for supper (even if he doesn’t eat it) and examination of her new book (the real reason for the visit). They pour over the illustrations for a few hours on the settee. Three cups of tea later, Molly can’t keep her eyes open so Sherlock excuses himself to return to Baker Street. She promises they will look at the book again sometime. She walks him to the door and they stand facing each other for a second.

“I can’t say thank you enough, Sherlock. It’s really beautiful and thoughtful.” He just nods as his cheeks turn pink. She smiles up at him reassuringly. He studies her face for a second then leans down and kisses her cheek before turning and walking out the door. Molly counts this as a very successful Christmas.


	5. 2011

_January_

A week into the New Year and Molly has to call IT to fix one of the lab computers. Jim from IT is rather charming. They go out for dinner twice and lunch once. Somehow they don’t go any further. Could be the threatening John and Sherlock thing. Could also be she wasn't really into it. 

Sherlock shows up at Molly’s flat the evening after she tells Jim it isn’t working. Without saying much it’s apparent he’s going to spend the night. Molly’s spare bedroom/office isn’t in a state to welcome guests so he spends a night on the sofa. At the end of the month it happens again. She just wakes up in the morning to find him there in the sitting room.

Molly has lunch and evening drinks with Mary a few times a month. They usually chat about work and Mary’s sordid love life. Mary occasionally tries to set Molly up on dates with blokes she knows. Molly always politely declines.

\--

_February_

John and Sherlock are tailing a frequent visitor (and cheating thief) of the Hippodrome Casino in Leicester Square. They hang around the tourists, trying not to look too conspicuous.

“I remember when this place was a night club,” John says off handed and slightly annoyed. “I can’t decide which is worse.” 

Sherlock just nods and scans the room. He’s head and shoulders above all the fruit machines, which is advantageous in seeing their mark approach. He shoves a plastic cup full of coins in John’s hand and says, “Go play that one.” He indicates with a nod which is the slot machine in question.

John obliges happily since it isn’t his money, and who knows, maybe he’ll hit the jackpot before the mark arrives. It’s one of those movie-themed ones and it makes the usual obnoxious sounds with every button push. John is £2 in when a boy of about 10 approaches.

“You finished yet geezer?” he spits at John.

“Oi! I’ve got a whole stack of 20p’s and I was here first.” The kid pulls a face but walks away. “Go cry to your mum!” John sneers. His victory is short lived when Sherlock pulls him away to go after the real criminal. They chase the guy down and herd him into the hands of Scotland Yard’s finest.

“Grab some dinner before heading home?” John asks as they watch the thief being put in cuffs and taken away.

Sherlock just rolls his eyes at John and says, “I’m going to Molly’s.”

“Oh?” John glances sideways. “New experiment then?”

“No.”

“Huh.”

“What?”

“No, it’s just...you’ve been spending a bit of time with her recently, that’s all.” They share a look for a second but Sherlock just walks away without another word.

\--

_March_

Molly had been working on a research project for months. Seeing weird cases with Sherlock and Scotland Yard meant she had plenty to write about. It was just difficult getting the time to finish it.

With no autopsies to perform she had barricaded herself in her office to actually write the conclusion to the paper. Sherlock striding through her door was more than a little startling. She was sure she had locked it. But that never stopped him of course.

“Hullo, Sherlock. What do you need today?” she barely lifts her eyes from her notes.

“Bored. I need a case quickly before this gets out of control.”

“I’m sorry. London’s been rather quiet lately. No unsolved murders or unusual deaths in weeks.”

“Well then give me something else to do!” he’s starting to get more antsy than usual.

“You can proof my paper if you’d like.” She doesn’t expect him to take up her bland offer.

“Okay then.” He’s quite possibly enthusiastic with the idea. Her head snaps up. “Give it here. Which publication are you going for?”

“Um, Journal of Clinical Pathology.”

“Good.”

With her laptop in his hands he sits and reads her draft while she reviews her notes, trying not to look at him too much.

Fifteen minutes later, he finally speaks, “Excellent so far. Your methodology is sound. Make sure your conclusion is firm, Dr. McMullin hates weak conclusions.”

“Thank you, Sherlock.”

“You’re welcome, Molly. Thank you for the temporary distraction but I need another nicotine patch. Good day.” He leaves as quickly as he had entered.

 

When he returns from the Baskerville case, he spends the night in her flat again. They sit watching telly for a while but he falls asleep in her chair, so she covers him with a blanket and retreats to her room. He’s gone when she wakes up in the morning.

\--

_May_

On an unusually warm night, Sherlock lets himself into her flat. She’s still awake (barely), reading on the sofa. They share a brief smile as he sits next to her, swiping a random magazine off her coffee table. He’s reading about the best soil pH for gardenias when he hears her soft snore. Putting down the magazine, he watches her chest raise and fall for a minute.

Part of him regrets the decision to sleep at hers tonight. He wouldn’t dream of making her take the lumpy couch in her own flat. It takes a bit of self assurance, but before long he bends down and whispers in her ear, “Molly? Molly, wake up.” Her eyelids flutter and she groans. “You have to go to bed. That’s it.”

She begins to stir and follow his direction. Her sleepy movements are severely uncoordinated and she grabs at his arms to remain upright. Apparently she’s not going to make it to her bed on her own, so he supports her around her waist and walks her slowly into her room.

She slips under the sheet and mumbles as she adjusts her pillows. He bends over her to hear better, “Pardon?”

She takes so long to answer he almost gives up and leaves. But just before he moves she whispers, “Stay.”

A battle rages in his mind for a second. Molly’s place had become a comfort to him. He sought out her solace tonight because the “Moriarty Problem” was getting worse. He straightens up, still considering what she unconsciously requested, but turns on this heel and leaves the flat. _  
_

\--

_June_

There’s something wrong. She can just feel it. There’s something in the way his eyes linger on his friend and then looks distant. He looks sad. The worst kind of sad. He mutters to himself as he always does while he works, but this doesn’t seem normal somehow.

She tries to get him to talk about it while they work. “You look a bit like my dad. He’s dead. No, sorry.”

“Molly please don’t feel the need to make conversation. It’s really not your area.” That was a little harsher than he would have liked but he can’t help it.

She begins again slowly. “When he was dying, he was always cheerful, he was lovely. Except for when he thought no one could see. ...I saw him once. He looked...sad.”

“Molly,” he says her name like a warning.

“You look sad. When you think he can’t see you.”

Sherlock glances over the microscope at John and looks back to her.

“Are you okay? And don’t just say you are. Because I know what that means, looking sad when you think no one can see you.”

“You can see me.”

“I don’t count,” she looks quickly down at her feet. It hurts to say it out loud but she knows it’s true. She wishes they were better friends but that’s not the reality. “What I’m trying to say is that if there’s anything I can do, anything you need, anything at all, you can have me. No, I just mean...I mean if there’s anything you need, it’s fine.”

“But what could I need from you?”

“Nothing, I don’t know. You could probably say ‘Thank you’ actually,” she tries to lighten the mood.

“Thank you...”

“I’m just going to go and get some crisps, do you want anything? It’s okay, I know you don’t.”

“Well actually maybe I-”

“I know you don’t,” she walks away before he can cut her down.

 

“Molly?...Molly, I have to go.” Sherlock’s voice is soft and his breath tickles her ear.

After the “fall” they had been smuggled out of Bart’s by Mycroft’s elite crew and taken back to her flat. He cleaned up as much as he could, and they sat on her couch for what felt like hours, just talking about where he would go. He very politely doesn’t mention that her ex-boyfriend is the one to put them in this situation.

“The first time we met, I didn’t like you very much,” she had said sipping her tea.

“No, I didn’t like you. You were just mad I wouldn’t sleep with you,” he had retorted. They had both laughed at that for a little too long.

It had been a trying day. At some point Molly had drifted off to sleep. She woke up in bed now, with Sherlock wrapped around her. Apparently he’d carried her in. Her eyes adjust to the light and she finds him staring at her. She tries to smile to show she’s okay with what was going to happen next.

“Take care of yourself, and try to come back,” she says, smoothing his errant curl from his forehead. “I will always be here for you.”

He leans down and kisses her cheek, pulling away slowly and looking deeply in her eyes once more before leaving the room. She lets herself shed a few tears after her front door closes. He has work to do and neither of them knows what the outcome will be.

\--

_August_

It’s a rather sticky night in London and Molly can’t stand it. Her bedroom is somehow warmer than any other room in the flat, so she lounges on her settee in a vest top and old running shorts to watch old movies on telly. Toby has the good graces not to touch her, as he can’t stand the heat either.

Her phone buzzes on the coffee table which is odd because it’s so late at night. The display shows an unknown foreign number with too many digits. She almost doesn’t answer, knowing it could be something nefarious, but she swipes to pick up.

“Hello?” she says cautiously. The other line is quiet for a second but then there’s a long sigh. “Who is this?”

“Molly,” his voice is quiet, “It’s me.”

“Sher-” she starts.

“Shh shh. I have a burner phone but this isn’t a very secure line.”

“Okay,” obviously she can’t ask where he is or anything that could give him away if they were being monitored. So she settles on, “Have you been sleeping?”

He chuckles lightly, “Some.”

“That’s good.” She has no idea what else to ask, and if he needs something he’ll come out and say it.

“What are you doing right now?”

“Watching _Casablanca_ on telly.”

“Channel?”

“Sky.”

“How far along?”

“Near the end. Ingrid Bergman just arrived at Rick’s bar. Oh, now he’s holding her dramatically.” Apparently chatting is his reason for phoning. It’s so odd, but lovely just the same.

“...Would you have stayed with him?” he asks suddenly.

“With Bogart? I don’t know. She obviously loves him more than the other guy.”

“You’d want to spend your life in Casablanca married to a man who runs a bar?”

“I didn’t say that!”

“Oh, so you’d rather be in a passionless marriage, as the first lady of Czechoslovakia, than stay with the man you’ve had the greatest sex of your life with?”

She snickers at his faux-accusatory tone, “It’s also war time and she needs to think about her own safety.”

“Exactly.”

She lets his last word sink in and realises they might not be talking solely about the film. “So you’d put her on the plane if you were Bogart?”

"No question," he says quietly. 

“Me too.” The silence between them stretches out for a moment. “I always forget how quickly they used to speak in films.”

“They had to. Film was expensive.”

She laughs, “That’s not why and you know it.”

“Fine, I don’t know why,” he relents.

“That’s a shame. ...You talk fast.”

“Well, I think fast.”

“Yes, you do.” They sit there just breathing again for a moment. “We’ll always have Paris,” she says along with Bogart.

“Cambridge,” he says softly.

She smiles to herself and sighs, “Are you eating?”

“Yes, mum,” he says pointedly.

“Hey! Don’t be sarcastic with me. Not right now.”

“Sorry,” he sighs. “I have to go anyway. Good night, Molly.”

“Good night. Be safe.” She has to close her eyes to compose herself after they ring off, and eventually she falls asleep on the sofa.

\----

_December_

He’s just taken down a major player in Moriarty’s web that he’d been tracking for four weeks. If he’d been at home he’d have celebrated by getting a take-away with John. But he can’t do that. So he rings Molly again, one of only a handful of people who know he survived the fall, and certainly the one he likes the best.

“Hello?” her voice is quiet and raspy.

“I’ve woken you.”

“No, no. I’m fine. It’s good to hear from you. Are you okay?”

“Yes, thank you. You?”

“Oh, fine. We’re all fine.”

There’s a long pause before he says, “Good. That’s good.” He can hear Molly shifting and likely rubbing at her face. “Why are you sleeping on the sofa?”

“I didn’t mean to. I drifted off watching a film.”

“Which one?”

“ _Lawrence of Arabia_.”

“Anyone would fall asleep during that one.”

“Aw no, it’s good. I’m just tired from work.”

“Oh, any interesting cases?”

“Afraid not.”

“That’s too bad. ...Did you realise the camera is always panning from left to right in that film?”

“Really?”

“Yes, it’s supposed to reinforce the movement toward the east.”

“That’s interesting!”

“Not really,” he says deadpan. “I should let you get back to sleep.”

“No, no! It’s ok.”

“No, I should sleep too. Take care of everyone for me.”

“I am,” she says sadly, “Take care of yourself...please. And Happy Christmas.”

“Happy Christmas, Molly,” he says with a soft smile and hangs up. He spends a second looking at his phone before dismantling it. He’ll dispose of the pieces over the next hour as he takes a victory lap around Antwerp in the snow.


	6. 2012

Molly had tried to keep in better contact with John, but he also seemed to push her away. He hadn’t returned her messages in weeks. She did make a point of calling in on Mrs. Hudson at least once a month.

Sherlock didn’t call her again. Sometime in May she received a text from an unknown number that just said, “I’m okay” and she had to assume it was from him. After that she made a point of calling on John more often.

In August she comes home from the night shift to find Sherlock asleep in her bed. She takes the couch and he’s gone before she wakes up the next morning.

In December, John meets her for lunch at a cafe three blocks away from Bart’s – he’s still nervous about coming closer to the building where he lost his best friend, but he’s getting better. Just before they order, Mary enters the cafe. The women greet each other happily and Molly invites Mary to join them. By the time their food arrives, Molly just _knows_ they will see more of each other. It’s in the long glances John takes at Mary, that he thinks Molly can’t see – or doesn’t care if she does see.

Molly and John make another lunch date for the next week. They run into Mary again but she can’t stay to join them. After she’s gone, John turns to Molly and says, “Would you mind if I called Mary sometime?” Molly enthusiastically gives her blessing.

Other than that, her life continued on as it always had. Bodies came into the morgue, reports were completed, and the cycle started over again.


	7. 2013

Tom came into her life in February. He was a friend of a friend. He was exceedingly polite and worked around her schedule to make dates. They went to the pub on the weekend when they could. In August he asks her to meet his parents and she declines. Their relationship falls apart after that.

 

Sherlock shows up at Bart’s in November. At first, they could only smile at each other.

“Hi,” she says finally.

“Hi,” he replies.

“Are you back for good?”

“I’m back.”

“Does John know?”

“He will in a bit.”

“Okay,” she desperately wants to rush forward and envelop him in her arms and make sure he’s real. “Oh! He moved in with Mary. Did you know?”

“Yes. Thank you. ...I should go. It’s good to see you,” he says after a second.

“You too.”

“Will you come to Baker Street tomorrow? Before 10, if possible.”

“Okay.”

 

The next day, she arrives at 221B Baker Street at exactly 9:45am – she’s expecting a crowd of people welcoming him home, but it’s just him, standing by the window.

“You wanted to see me?”

He turns to face her, “Yes.” He takes a few steps closer, “Molly, would you...would you like to...”

“...have dinner?” she prompts.

“Solve crimes?” he finishes at the exact same time.

Molly feels put in her place. She can’t fathom why she even said that to begin with. She would say they were “just friends” but of course, he doesn’t “do” friends.

It is rather fun working on cases with him, but they hardly talk except for business. As the day goes on they both loosen up. They give each other pointed looks when the clients aren’t watching.

Around noon Sherlock takes her out for a bit of “leg work” as he puts it. Lestrade is obviously surprised to see them together. She keeps him in line but they share more pointed looks and rare smiles. When they leave the client’s flat, Sherlock returns to some of his usual stiffness, but he offers to grab chips and they share a joke.

The thought of more hours with him, not talking about anything doesn’t seem appealing. She’s a little tired and confused if she’s really honest with herself.

“Sherlock, what was today about?”

“Saying thank you.”

“For what?”

“Everything you did for me."

“It’s ok, it was my pleasure.”

“No, I mean it.”

“I don’t mean ‘pleasure,’ I mean I didn’t mind. I wanted to.”

He takes a step closer, “Moriarty slipped up. He made a mistake. Because the one person he thought didn’t matter at all to me was the one person that mattered the most. You made it all possible, Molly Hooper.”

“I would have done it for any of my friends.”

“I know you would. That’s why I’m grateful you stooped to do it for me.”

“Sherlock, don’t. You’re my friend, even if I’m not yours.” She can’t look at him while she says it. His prolonged silence draws her eyes back to him.

He’s just staring down at her darkly. He takes a deep breath before saying, “That’s right. ...You’ve never been my friend.”

She bites her lips and hot tears form in the corners of her eyes. It takes all of her strength to not let them loose. “Exactly. So, direct us to the chip shop then.” She plasters on a smile and walks out of the flat, tugging on her gloves.

She tries to hold a normal conversation while they eat and walk. Mostly they’re just silent.

“Today was really fun,” she says when their packets are empty. “I never realised how many people you help in a day.”

“Mmm, only if they call. Most days I don’t help anyone.” He takes her empty paper wrapping and tosses it in a nearby bin.

“Right. Still...It’s nice that you’re able to do that. I’m glad you’re back.” She smiles warmly at him.

“Me too.” He gives her a tight smile. They end up standing in silence for a few moments again, just looking at each other lost in thought.

“Right. Well, I should go. Work tomorrow and all that.”

“Of course. Thank you again, Molly.”

“My pleasure, Sherlock.” She braces a hand on his arm and stands on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. She means for it to be over quickly but the warmth of his skin makes her linger. She clears her throat self consciously as she steps back, “Good night then.” She walks away without looking back at him.

\--

_December_

John and Mary throw a Christmas Eve party at their new flat. There are quite a few people crammed into the sitting room. She knows less than a handful - Lestrade, Mrs Hudson, and Sherlock – who looks less than thrilled to be there.

People drink punch and mulled wine, and form a make-shift dance floor by the fireplace. Molly has to work in the morning so she doesn’t indulge too much. Mrs. Hudson slips out early and Lestrade drives her home. Molly wants to do the same but hasn’t spoken to the hosts in a while so she feels a bit guilty. She finds John and Sherlock in the kitchen.

John catches her eye and smiles, which makes Sherlock turn around. He looks surly, of course, and walks away. While Molly starts to make her excuses to John, Mary walks up. She hugs them both and gives them their joint present – a couple’s massage at Mary’s favourite spa.

Molly makes her way out of their flat and starts to walk to the Tube station hopefully not too late to catch one of the last trains. Before she even gets very far a disembodied voice comes from the darkness.

“Last one’s gone.” Sherlock emerges from the shadows. “Share a cab?”

“Oh, that would be great," she smiles.

They hail a taxi fairly quickly and Sherlock gives the driver her address.

“Did you have a nice time?” she asks as they set off. He gives a non-committal grunt and tilt of his head. “Oh, I didn’t give you your present.” She fishes through her bag for the small box. “Not as flashy as the spyglass. Didn’t have enough warning- I mean, time to shop, really.”

He examines the package for a minute – wrapped in red paper like the lipstick she chose that evening. She doesn’t expect him to open it right there in the cab, but he does. A huge grin spreads across his face as he crumples up the paper. He fingers the edge of the wood frame containing the toe tag from his brief stay in Bart’s mortuary two years ago.

“You like it?”

“Very much. Thank you, Molly.”

“You’re very welcome.”

“Your present is at the lab.”

“Oh?”

“New microscope. To replace the one I just stole.”

“Oh, Sherlock. Thank you!”

“Just don’t let the students use it.”

“I won’t.” She says with a grin.

The rest of the cab ride is silent. When they arrive at her flat, he pays the cabbie and sees her to her door. Before she can ask him in, he leans down quickly to kiss her cheek says, “Happy Christmas” and walks away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I recently read a fic where Molly gave Sherlock his fake Death Certificate for Christmas. That totally inspired this scenario. I tried to find it again but have as yet been unsuccessful. If you happen to know it, please drop it in the comments and I'll update this. Thanks!


	8. 2014

John and Mary announce their engagement on New Year’s Eve. They plan a smallish affair for 19th April. Mary and Molly’s semi-regular lunches start involving wedding planning more and more.

\--

_February_

Molly makes it to Mary’s dress fitting just on time. Mary’s already inside the little boutique, chatting with the shop owner. Mary squeals and hugs Molly as soon as she walks in then runs off to change into the dress. Mary emerges from the changing room in the most beautiful champagne-coloured vintage gown.

“Oh, Mary,” Molly can hardly keep her voice steady.

“Good or bad?” Mary asks self-consciously.

“It’s just beautiful! Not a meringue in sight.” They grin at each other and Molly rushes to hug Mary before she cries.

 

A week later, Molly finds out Joe’s wife is expecting a baby boy. That evening, Molly can’t sleep. She stares up at her ceiling for a while, not really sure what’s wrong. It’s not like her to suffer insomnia, and she never really gets to sleep.

\--

_March_

One day while she’s doing the shopping, Molly runs into Tom and his new fiancé Amber. Their conversation isn’t long.

“Oh my god, Molly.”

“Tom! Hi!”

“Umm...this is Amber...my fiancé.”

“Your...huh. How nice. Very er...nice to meet you, Amber. And uh, nice to run into you, Tom. I must pop off. Have a ...nice day.” If it was possible to awkwardly work the word “nice” into the conversation anymore Molly would have done it.

That night she knows exactly why she lays awake staring at the ceiling into the wee hours. Babies with curly brown hair run through her mind until she gives up and watches terrible late-night telly.

\--

_April_

Two weeks before the wedding, Molly helps Mary make the table cards and sachets of Jordan almonds. A week before the wedding, Sherlock strides into Bart’s lab asking Molly to assist in calculating everyone’s prime inebriation limits. It takes a bit of computation but she’s confident in the results. His insistence on the calculations will come in handy during Mary’s hen-do.

John and Sherlock have a bit of a legless end to the stag night. If Mrs. Hudson hadn’t taken the rubbish out at 11pm they may well have slept on the stairs. As it is, they’re able to make it up to the flat. They sit in “their” chairs and for unknown reasons sip scotch.

“I w’nder how Mry’s night is going. ...I bet they’re asleep already.” John babbles.

“No, no. Molly’s in charge, they’ll still be danssing and gosssiping, and whatever else women do in groups.” Sherlock slurs slightly.

“Aw, tha’s nice. Molly’s a nice...lady.” John giggles uncontrollably for a solid minute.

“Yuss, she is.”

“She’s mah friend. Is she your friend?”

Sherlock narrows his eyes at John – well, squints if he’s honest. “...No,” he says after a second.

“But I’m yur ffriend.” He leans forward on his chair a little too far and has to briefly brace himself on Sherlock’s knee to remain upright.

“Yus, Jawn.”

“Mary’s yur ffriend?”

“Mmmmm sure.”

“I luf her.” John grins.

“I’d rather hope ssso.”

“Why isn’t Molly yur ffriend?”

Sherlock sips his drink and sighs. “I’m going to bed,” he says completely ignoring the question. “Was this a success, Jawn?”

“Yuss, Shrlick. Thaank you fer my birfday drinkys.”

“Wedding...deer...stags...something.”

“That’s the one. G’night.”

Sherlock staggers to his room and leaves his friend to arrange himself on the settee. He’s just taken off his shoes and jacket when his phone buzzes.

“ _Make sure you both drink water before you go to sleep. – Mx_ ”

Sherlock groans but hoists himself back off the bed. He finds a clean glass for each of them, leaving John’s on the coffee table next to where his friend is already asleep.

 

Across town that same evening, Mary’s hen-do is still going strong. Molly has so far been able to pace Mary but it’s becoming more difficult as the night wears on and people insist on buying the Bride-To-Be shots. She slips away from the group to check her phone for a second - and possibly recalculate Mary’s limits based on the increasing rate of consumption. She sends off a quick text to Sherlock – who should still be fairly sober if he followed the instructions.

Molly’s able to get the group to change clubs, which buys her metabolising time, and insists on getting the first round once they finally get in. Mary doesn’t have to know that her drink is a virgin daiquiri. 

By closing time, Molly’s the only one standing– Mary having gotten wise and totally given up on the limiting pace, and their other friends not privy to their own limitations. She tends to Mary, putting her to bed fully hydrated and paracetamol at the ready. She checks her phone before she herself settles down for the evening. There’s one missed text alert from hours ago.

_“Thsnks mols Niht my love – SH”_

Molly’s brain freezes for a second, staring at the last word. She convinces herself that of course, it doesn’t mean anything coming from someone obviously inebriated - especially if that someone is self-declared loveless man Sherlock Holmes. So Molly sighs, puts the phone down and stares at the ceiling all night. In the morning her face matches those of her hung-over friends, but at least she doesn’t share their headaches.


	9. 2014 - The Wedding Day

The wedding day is a whirl of activity. As Maid of Honour, Molly helps Mary get ready, and checks in with the other event coordinators. Everything seems to be moving along smoothly. They pull up to the church on time. Mary looks radiant walking down the aisle, John almost loses it when he sees her. He grabs Mary's hand a little more firmly than he needs to, and kisses her knuckles in apology when Sherlock whispers at him to relax. 

Sherlock offers his arm to Molly when the ceremony is over and they follow the newlyweds back down the aisle.

“Holding up better than John?” she asks with a smile.

“Of course, why wouldn’t I?” his voice betrays his anxiousness.

“Oh, nothing. Just what happens next.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes you do. You’ve been nervous about it for weeks. It’ll be fine. Your speech will be great and then it will be over.” she gives his arm a reassuring squeeze before they separate. He sort of stares at her for a moment but the photographer interrupts them.

Sherlock’s Best Man speech does begin a little rough, but eventually picks up pace – though Sherlock’s still obviously self-conscious. In the middle of a long story about how John saved a victim’s life he totally freezes for a second. Molly holds her breath and almost stands up to shake him.

“Gary!” he shouts all of a sudden.

“What?” John and Molly say in unison.

“Lestrade!” Sherlock brings his attention to the Detective Inspector seated at the first table.

“Greg,” Lestrade deadpans.

“It was the step-brother’s best friend! He staged the robbery to cover up the assault the step-brother committed!”

There’s a little commotion as Sherlock takes Lestrade aside to give further details. When he returns to the head table his demeanour has almost totally changed. He’s smiling wide, and speaking more evenly –if a bit quicker as well.

“To John and Mary Watson, may today be the beginning of many adventures together as husband and wife. To the bride and groom!” he finishes his speech and the room applauds enthusiastically.

Molly’s Maid of Honour speech is short and sweet. She manages not to cry while she speaks, saving it for after she’s finished and hugged Mary. When she sits back down, Sherlock offers his napkin to her to dry her eyes.

After the cake cutting, and first dance –Sherlock plays a beautiful waltz on his violin – Molly stands near the bar watching the happy couples dance. Sherlock makes his way over to her, nodding as he turns to watch the dance floor as well.

“They look happy, don’t they?” Molly says eventually.

Sherlock just nods thoughtfully. After another minute of silence he turns to her and says, “Molly Hooper, would you like to get pissed?”

She lets out a breathy laugh, “Thought you’d never ask!”

He orders from the bar and takes out his phone to pull up his drinking app. “How much champagne did you have with dinner?”

“Just the one glass,” she says leaning over to look at what he’s typing. Apparently he’s made an entry for her. “I never asked how you and John fared during the stag night.”

Sherlock clears his throat awkwardly and passes her a glass of wine, “Umm. ...We may have been steered off course ahead of schedule.”

“I see. So the typo-ridden text I received from you at half-eleven?”

“Mm. Completely inebriated by that time,” he says with a short nod. “John admitted the next day to secretly getting us shots,” he rolls his eyes but the corners of his mouth twitch into a smile briefly.

Molly can’t help but giggle picturing the scene. “Lightweights. Cheers,” she says clinking her glass with his and taking a sip. “Excellent job as Best Man by the way.”

“Thank you. You as well,” he furrows his eyebrows battling over whether or not he should correct his inference. He turns to look at Molly who is staring out in the middle distance with a half-hearted smile. “You look beautiful by the way.” The words are out of his mouth before he can think better of it.

She looks up at him now, grin spreading across her face. “Thank you, Sherlock. You-”

Before she can finish returning the compliment Sherlock knocks back his drink and says, “Another round?”

Molly just stands agape as he turns back to the bar and orders. She finishes her own wine as quickly as she can, grimacing at the last swallow. It’s good wine, but it’s a bit too much all at once. Sherlock returns with two shot glasses.

“Don’t you know what they say about mixing drinks?” she says slightly alarmed.

“Yes, and we both know it’s bullshit. It’s the pace and amount of alcohol consumed, not the type or order.” He clinks his glass against hers and throws it back. She half-smiles and does the same, silently wishing for a chaser.

After that, John and Mary practically scurry up to the two wallflowers and drag them onto the dance floor. They bob awkwardly for a few seconds but almost immediately the DJ changes songs to something less bouncy. Sherlock and Molly stare at each other for a second before he takes her hand and pulls her in closer, slipping his other arm around her waist. She lets herself be drawn in and reaches her free hand around his shoulder.

They sway together, Molly thankful that her high-heels make up some of their height difference. If she tilts her chin up she could rest it on his shoulder, but it would still be a slightly uncomfortable angle. As she’s thinking about it, Sherlock dips his head, bringing his cheek to her temple. His breath is warm and tickles her ear.

It’s been so long since she was intimate with a man, her heart races at his touch. An ache fills her chest and tears form in the corners of her eyes. Breathing quickly becomes difficult. Suddenly his body heat is too much and she pulls away.

Without looking at him, she stammers out excuses, “I um, just have to...please excuse me... Need air.” She practically bolts from the reception hall and only comes to a stop once she’s outside.

She closes her eyes and gulps in the cool night air for a second. A warm hand on her elbow startles her back to the moment, and when she realises it’s Sherlock’s hand she forces herself to relax. He produces a glass of water seemingly from nowhere and keeps his steady hand on her elbow while she sips it.

“Two of my ex-boyfriends are moving onto other life stages,” she blurts out. “I know it’s a bit...stupid but I guess I’m not okay with it. ...Sorry, I know you don’t care.” She spins around, breaking their contact and strides back inside determined to stick out a few more songs before calling it a night.

She stands in the doorway to the hall for a minute, taking in the scene. Mary and John do look really happy. She tries to smile but it feels more like a grimace so she just sighs instead. Sherlock reappears next to her at that moment, and ushers her to the bar again.

“Four shots, please.” he asks the bartender as he loosens his tie and unbuttons his waistcoat.

Molly can’t help but stare and take in how perfect he still looks in a dishevelled state. “Sherlock, we don’t have to keep...It’s okay to just...” she shakes her head not sure where she’s going with this. Sherlock just passes her the first shot, and takes the second for himself.

“Cheers,” he says clinking their tiny glasses together before downing it in one.

Molly sighs again before doing the same, already feeling the effects of their first two hastily consumed drinks. Sherlock has the other shots in hand before Molly’s able to put down the empty glass. The determination on his face when he clinks their glasses again makes Molly smile. It’s the same face he makes when solving difficult cases. After he throws the shot back he catches her eye and smiles too.

“This is much too fast,” she says unable to stop grinning. She has to take a deep breath before finishing her own this time. She can’t help the groan and grimace when it’s over and grabs a lime from the bartender’s hand before he can put it in someone else’s drink.

This makes Sherlock double over with laughter for some reason and Molly realises how slow her reflexes have become. “You’re not keeping track, Sherlock! This is why you and John ended up at home before midnight!” She can’t help but giggle herself.

She refuses to drink anymore unless they resume keeping track of their intake. He huffs but takes out his phone again and squints as he plugs in the numbers. They take on the slower and more controlled pace which allows them to feel the happy effects of inebriation well into the night. To pass the time he drunkenly deduces guests, mostly making it up because he’s not really observing anything that well.

Guests start leaving and John and Mary depart to their hotel room. Molly convinces him they shouldn’t be the last ones to leave the party. Sobering up, they share a cab back into town, pulling up to Molly’s flat first.

“Do you want to come in for tea?” she hesitantly offers before getting out.

He stares at her before responding, “Yes.” He pushes the fare to the cabbie and shuffles out behind her.  

They make it up to her flat without incident, but it takes her a second to get the right key into the lock. She slips off her shoes on the way to the kitchen, and switches on the kettle before attempting to remove the pins from her hair.

Before she gets very far, she feels Sherlock stand very close behind her. His hands cover hers as they struggle with her up-do, and brush them away. His fingers work through her hair, removing the pins as he finds them. She has to hold onto the edge of the counter, suddenly weak. His chest presses against her back and she has to close her eyes to concentrate on breathing normally. The blood pumping through her veins helps to sober her up quite rapidly.

When her hair is finally free of all pins he drops his hands, but remains pressed against her. She swallows hard and manages to say, “Unzip me so I can change?” while sweeping her hair over her shoulder. It takes a second for him to respond, but soon his gentle hands find the zipper of her dress and ease it down slowly. The dress is equipped with a built-in support structure so she’s not wearing a bra. His fingertips accidentally graze her bare skin and a shiver runs up her spine that she can’t suppress.

He takes a step back and she almost whimpers at the loss of contact. She catches herself and turns around quickly to face him.  He hasn’t moved very far, and stares at his feet. Molly unconsciously reaches out to lift up his chin and when their eyes finally meet, her breath catches in her throat. If she didn’t know any better she’d say his eyes were dilated from more than just the drink, full of lust and need.

Trying to think of something to say she licks her lips, and watches as his eyes dart down to her mouth. He brings his gaze back up but only briefly. He rapidly looks back and forth between her eyes and her lips several times before he’s closed the distance between them and pushed his lips against hers.

Molly’s not exactly ready for the kiss, but she does respond eagerly. Her grip on his face loosens to cradle his jaw, holding him in place. His arms snake around her waist, briefly touching her bare back with the zip open. He pushes their bodies even closer together. They break apart to breathe when the kettle clicks off, but he presses his forehead against hers and draws her in again. The second kiss is more gentle and tentative which drives Molly crazy. Every nerve in her body is screaming and ready to burst so she stands on her tiptoes, grips the back of his neck and pulls him in harder. He gasps and returns the pressure, lightly suckling and changing angles to taste every centimetre of her mouth.

She swipes her tongue along his bottom lip briefly, causing him to gasp again. She does it once more and he responds by crushing her mouth and exploring her tongue with his own. He tastes like limes and alcohol, and his body feels rock hard against hers. The need to touch him is overwhelming and she fists handfuls of his hair and jacket lapel. His hands grip her tightly, bunching up her dress, and he pushes her back against the counter so their whole bodies are touching.

His kisses start to trail along her jaw, to her ear, and down her neck. She moans as he nips at her, and grips him even tighter, pushing at his jacket. He leans back to slip it off and she takes the opportunity to toss aside his tie and push at his waistcoat as well. He shrugs it off while resuming kissing her.

His hands slip back to her waist, holding her against the kitchen worktop. She hitches one leg behind his calf, bringing their hips into better contact. He gasps against her lips again and croaks out, “Molly?”

She knows she shouldn’t let herself do this. They’ve been drinking and had an emotional day. They’ve only ever been _friends_. Well, one-sided friends anyway. But she  wouldnever deny that she was attracted to him. Of course she was. She’s thought about kissing his perfect mouth, and running her fingers through his curls – just like this –so many times.

“Don’t stop,” she whispers, desperately clutching at the back of his neck with both hands.

He moans into another bruising kiss and trails his hand down the leg wrapped around him. He grasps the back of her knee, encouraging her to wrap it more securely around his waist. In one swift move he hoists her up and she locks both legs around him, supporting herself on his shoulders. He carries her into her bedroom and kicks off his shoes before placing her gently in the centre of the bed.

The feel of his weight pressed against her makes her gasp. Everything about him is firm, including his arousal evident against the inside of her leg. She rolls her hips up to rub against him and pulls his shirt tails from his trousers.

He groans against the side of her neck and his hands trail up the side of her torso. He rubs his thumbs over the sides of her breasts making her push into him even more. His fingers wrap around the back of her shoulders to pull off the top of her dress.

Once free, his hands find their way back to the sides of her chest. He kisses her mouth again but soon traces a trail down her sternum. His thumbs graze the undersides of her breasts and she wants to scream for more. He continues his trail of kisses over her left breast and to her apex, the same instant that his hand covers her other breast entirely, brushing her nipple between his fingers.

His mouth is so warm and perfect. She gasps and clutches at him when his tongue flicks gently over her fully erect nipple. He suckles her for a second before switching sides and doing the same to her other.

Molly’s body is absolutely alive with desire and longing to be touched. She can’t help but gasp for air under his attentions. When he shifts back up to kiss her mouth and jaw she takes the opportunity to sneak a hand in between their bodies and undo his trouser fly. He starts at the contact but lets her work. His erection is fully hard against her hands and she rubs him appreciatively though the fabric first. He gasps and groans against her neck.

When his fly is open enough she pushes on his waistband, clearly indicating they need to be removed. Instead of complying, he shifts his hands down to hike up the skirt of her dress and trace the edge of her lace knickers. She spreads her legs open for him, everything indicating an invitation. He slips his thumb under the edge right at her mound and into her dark curls. She holds her breath when he explores further, brushing his thumb gently over her swelling clit and parting her folds. His breathing is ragged in her ear as he backtracks the trail he just made, pushing into her further.

She bites her lips to keep from shouting and instead makes incoherent grunts. He shifts his hand to spread over her stomach and down under the waistband of her knickers. His index finger replaces the pressure his thumb had been applying. He rubs her clit, and kisses her neck as he slips his digit into her eager opening, cursing under his breath as he does so. Molly joins him in cursing when he pulls out and adds a second, thoroughly overcome by the feel of his fingers inside of her. He moves them slowly in and out a few times while she gasps and holds herself together.

He re-positions so he’s able to finger her and rub her clit at the same time. A few more strokes and she’s coming apart underneath him. A few choked and desperate gasps escape from her throat as her muscles clench and her nerve endings explode. He brings his hand up slowly and licks his fingers clean.

“Condom,” leaves her mouth as soon as she’s able to speak. He shifts back and pulls open her bedside drawer as if he already knew the box would be there. She takes the opportunity to slip completely out of her soaking knickers finally, and push down his pants and trousers to free his cock. She doesn’t get to touch him before his hands work almost clumsily to put the condom on in a hurry.

She sinks back on the bed as he leans over her, and she spreads herself wide for him. He positions himself between her legs and suckles on her collarbone as he slowly pushes into her entrance. He stills when he’s fully in, and they both exhale loudly. She hooks one leg around his thigh to encourage him further.

His rhythm starts slow, but soon builds. She matches his thrusts and it hits the perfect angle inside of her. They gasp and pant as they move, building the need for release together. He clutches her waist for a better grip as their movements become more desperate.

“Don’t stop,” she gasps into his ear over and over. His chest brushes her nipples and his pelvis rubs tantalizingly against her clit. “That’s it.” She bites her lips as her muscles clench around him. At the same time, she knows he’s right there, coming with her. His body goes rigid and he gasps loudly before he breathes again. He practically collapses on her, panting heavily into her shoulder for a second.

He pulls out of her slowly moving only enough to toss the condom in her bin. He resumes his spot, face buried in her neck. It doesn’t take long before their breathing slows and they both drift off to sleep.


	10. 2014 - The Aftermath

Molly first registers a weight in the bed that usually isn’t there when she wakes. She opens her eyes slowly, putting the pieces of last night back together. Her dress is askew but still on, and Sherlock is similarly half-dressed next to her.

He stirs and takes a deep breath while rubbing his face. All of a sudden his head snaps up and meets her eyes. She’s not sure what his expression is, and she doesn’t know what to say. He’s off the bed in a shot, rearranging his trousers and starts stammering. “S-sorry. I uh, need to ...go. Cases to work on." He has trouble locating his other shoe "I’ll...see you?”

She sits up slightly, not able to speak and not sure what she should even say. She shouldn’t have let this happen, no matter how much she wanted it. He had made it perfectly clear over the years that she wasn’t his friend, let alone a potential romantic partner. Of course he would regret what happened between them. So she turns around and curls up on her bed before she could watch him leave. Somehow that would be too painful. She only knows he actually left when her front door clicks shut.

Molly feels like screaming, not really sure what emotions are running through her at the moment. All she knows is she needs to talk to someone. The only person she’s ever spoken to about her love life is Mary. She runs through her flat to find her phone, dialling Mary’s number without thinking about it.

“Molly?” Mary answers groggily, “Everything alright?”

“Oh, shit!” Molly gasps in realisation. “I’m so sorry, Mary. You’re supposed to be enjoying your lie-in with John.” Her voice shakes and she can’t really reign in her breathing.

“No, no it’s ok. You sound ...scared, what’s wrong?”

“Well...Sherlock and I...um...”

\--

 _“Molly and I slept together –SH”_ Sherlock’s message says.

“What?!” John shouts out loud from his hotel bed next to his new wife – who is apparently awake and also on her phone.

Mary’s head snaps to him. “Oh my god, Molly and Sherlock!” she whispers.

“I know!” he mouths back and holds up his phone to show her the message he’d received.

 _“How did that happen? –JW”_ John texts back.

\--

“We got pretty drunk at the wedding and he saw me home. I asked him in for tea and...well...one thing led to another.”

“Oh my god,” Mary and John say in unison.

\--

_“What do I do?! –SH”_

_“What do you_ want _to do? –JW”_

_“I don’t know! That’s why I’m asking you! -SH”_

\--

“I didn’t mean to...to fall in love with him. It wasn’t supposed to work like this.” Molly’s voice is shaky and steadily increasing in pitch.

“Shh, shh. It’s ok, Molly. This is too new. Just take a deep breath for me. ...That’s it. It will get worked out. You just need to get over the shock first.” Mary grabs her husband’s arm as she reassures her friend over the phone.

\--

_“First of all, calm down. Take a minute to breathe. You have to figure out what this means to you. –JW”_

Sherlock rolls his eyes and thumps his thigh with his fist a few times in the back of the cab. _“You are absolutely no help. Finish up with your sex holiday so we can solve cases again. – SH”_ He gruffly tosses the fare at the cabbie and actually stomps into his flat.

\--

"It's about damn time," Mary says putting her phone back on the night table.

John exhales loudly and nods. "I'm so glad we're not out there anymore."

"Me too," she smiles and kisses him sweetly.

 

\----

_May_

Sherlock doesn’t go to Bart’s for over a fortnight. He hasn’t had a case that required him to do so. But eventually, Lestrade tells him about a murder victim turning up and he’s forced to go check it out. Molly’s there when he enters but she’s working on filling out reports and doesn’t look up at him. He starts to walk over to her but another pathologist stops him.

“Mr. Holmes! DI Lestrade is down in the mortuary waiting for you. They have the body all laid out.” This nameless pathologist ushers Sherlock away before he can say anything at all. His eyes stay fixed on Molly and she doesn’t move even though he’s sure she could hear his name being called.

When he’s finished examining the body he returns to the lab – not really sure what he’s going to do when he gets there. He doesn’t have to come up with anything since she’s apparently already gone home for the day.

 

Two days later, he texts her and invites her over to Baker Street. She never responds so he tracks her down to make sure she’s alright. He confirms she’s safely in her flat and doesn’t press it further.

 

A few days after that, he has to go to Bart’s again for a case. She’s not in at all, apparently having taken a long weekend to see her brother in Surrey.

 

He goes about his usual routine, but somehow becomes more and more irritated the longer he doesn’t speak to her. So one night, he rings her. She doesn’t answer, and he freezes up when prompted to leave a voice message. “It’s Sherlock. Call me,” is all he manages to blurt out.

 

The next day he rings John when he just can’t be alone with his thoughts anymore. “Why won’t Molly talk to me?” he practically shouts.

John just sighs into the line. “Mate, you walked out on her. That wasn’t good.”

“And I’m trying to apologise for that!” he fully shouts this time.

“She probably doesn’t really want hear it.”

“Why not?”

“Umm...well...She knows it didn’t mean anything to you.”

“Okay,” he says quietly, thinking for a moment.

“Listen, she just needs some time to move past it. But...I hate to be the one to tell you...things might never be the same between you two.”

“Why not?”

“Well, because sex changes the nature of a relationship. She’s always thought you didn’t indulge in any of that, so she’s keeping her distance partly for your sake and mostly to protect herself.”

John has to check his phone after a second to make sure Sherlock hasn’t hung up on him. “Sherlock?” he hears a grunt of confirmation on the other line. “What _do_ you want to have happen with Molly?” He doesn’t expect his friend to answer, and Sherlock doesn’t. “Well, you need to figure that out. What that night meant to you, and what _she_ means to you.” Sherlock gives another grunt confirming he had heard.

“Listen, you have to come to Lestrade’s birthday-do in a few hours. We can talk more then, okay?”

They ring off with few words and Sherlock lays on the sofa, staring at the ceiling for a while.

What _does_ this mean to him? He had been so long in the “sex doesn't exist for me” camp he didn’t know how to feel about it now that it happened with Molly. _Molly_. 

He has to admit to himself that Molly is nice to be around. He regretted telling her all those years ago that he didn’t have friends, and implying since then that she wasn’t his friend. She obviously had been. But wait...she _wasn’t_ , was she? She’d never been _just_ a friend to him.

When they drove down from Cambridge together she was a stranger he had trouble deducing. He knew there was so much more under what she showed to the world. But his life was a total mess and he pushed everyone away back then.

Getting to know her had slowly crept up on him. She was brilliant to watch in the lab. It was like having another _him_ at times. She had helped solve more cases than he cared to admit.

He never thought of her as an ordinary person. Her presence didn’t irritate him, quite the opposite in fact. Which –if he was totally honest – scared him, and caused him to act out now and again. How many times had he sought the comfort of her flat? Would he ever be allowed to do that again?

She had trusted him, and helped fake his death. He owed her so much. He was so thankful that she had always been there for him. He always counted on her, and always would. His chest ached to think she was now unhappy, and it was made even worse knowing that he caused it.

He sits bolt upright on the sofa, finally registering how dark it had gotten outside. He checks the time, already late for Lestrade’s party – which she was sure to be at. He dashes from the living room, and throws on clean clothes as fast as he can. _"Purple shirt. Molly likes the purple shirt best."_

He catches a cab and fidgets as it slowly makes it through London traffic. The car barely comes to a stop in front of the pub before he pushes the money at the cabbie and exits onto the pavement. His feet take him swiftly into the bustling crowd, and his eyes dart around searching for her. He sees Lestrade talking to someone against the back wall. The crowd parts slightly and Sherlock realises Lestrade is talking to Molly.

She’s wearing a dress he’s never seen her in before – bright blue with a grey cardigan, and grey ballet flats. He’s not sure if she’s ever looked more beautiful. Not even on John and Mary’s wedding day, but he hadn’t really been looking then, had he? _Now_ he saw her. _Now_ he knew what everything had meant.

His long legs brought him across the room and in front of her rather quickly. When her eyes found his, it made his breath catch even though the look in her eyes showed she wasn't pleased to see him. She turned back to Lestrade to excuse herself and started to walk away. It took a second for Sherlock’s brain to push him to follow her, but he did. He caught her before she could slip upstairs to the private events room.

“What do you want, Sherlock?” she snaps, standing on the first step.

It brought him up short and he had to blink and process before he could speak. “I needed to see you,” he says weakly.

She scoffs and stares at a point on the wall next to her, “It’s always about what _you_ need, isn’t it?”

“Yeah....no! No. I, um, I mean, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. And the thing is...I love you.” He stares at her, waiting for her to react.

Her jaw clenches before her face breaks and tears spring to the corners of her eyes, “That's really low, Sherlock. What am I supposed to say to that?”

“Um, well. I’m hoping that you love me too, Molly.” Panic fills his chest making it difficult to breathe. He had never considered that she wouldn’t return the feeling.

“You _know_ I...Shit,” she stops herself mid-thought and regroups. “I know you’re bored, and you’re probably mad at me for not helping you in the lab, but you can’t do this. You can’t use this to get what you want.” She turns to proceed upstairs.

“What if all I want is you?” he blurts out.

She stops short and turns back to look at him in confusion. She takes in his full appearance, waiting for any tell of a lie.

“What if you were never my friend because you were always _more_ than that? What if all I want is to see your face? What if your _damn_ cherry cardigan makes me smile every time you wear it?”

The smile and laugh escapes her before she can contain it and she bites her lips to try to remain serious.

He takes a cautious step toward her, “I love the way your neck looks so graceful when you use the microscope, and the way you rub it when you sit there too long without moving. I love the way you’ve picked up your own talents for deduction. I love that you can put me in my place with a single look. I love that you keep me on the right path, and even after that you still have energy to give to your other friends. I love that when I spend the night at your flat my clothes still smell like you the next day. I love that you are the first person I think of in the morning, and last person I want to talk to before I go to sleep at night. And it’s not because I’m bored, or because I need anything from you. I came here tonight to see _you_ because I never realised until now that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with _anyone_ , and I want that to start with _you_ , as soon as possible.”

Molly looks to the ceiling for help and takes a deep breath. “You see? This is just like you. You always do shit like this to make it impossible for me to hate you! And I want to _hate_ you, Sherlock!” She says with as much force as she can summon, but her voice catches and tears stream down her cheeks. “I want to hate you,” she says more softly, no longer able to hold in her smile.

Her smile lifts a huge weight from his chest and he rushes forward to catch her face in his hands. “I love you, Molly. I’m so sorry for...everything. For me. I was such an idiot.” He presses his forehead to hers and closes his eyes. “Can you ever forgive me?”

“Yes, Sherlock, of course I can.” She clutches at the sides of his torso and feels him take deep breaths. “I love you too. I always have.”

He captures her mouth with his lips, pouring every ounce of feeling into the kiss to show her more than he can ever say. He trails his arms down to wrap around her waist, and he practically lifts her off the step as they kiss again and again. He was never going to let her go. He was never going to let her down.


	11. EPILOGUE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Three months later we got married.”  
> “Yeah, it only took three months.”  
> “Thirteen years and three months.”

“No, no. It’s true. Most women at one time or another have faked it.” Mary insists between sips of tea.

John and Sherlock both look scandalised and turn to Molly for confirmation. Molly’s eyes are wide, and she takes a self-conscious bite of her sandwich to avoid answering one way or the other.

“That can’t be...That’s not true. I would have known.” John insists, returning his focus to his wife.

Molly can’t help but scoff at that and immediately regrets it when the attention returns to her.

“Men are always _sure_ it’s never happened to them, but most women have done it, so statistically speaking...” Mary trails off and lets the men do the math.

“You honestly think we couldn’t tell the difference?” John asks.

“Nope,” Mary grins.

“That’s bollocks.” John indignantly resumes eating his lunch.

“Ooh,” Molly quietly moans suddenly. “Oh...Ooooh.”

“Molly, are you alright?” John asks. Mary and Sherlock both look at her wide-eyed.

“Oh...Oh, God.” Molly starts again, closing her eyes. “...Mmm...Oooh...oh, ah, oh God. Oh yeah, right there...Mmmmm...Oh!" She seductively rubs a hand through her hair, "Oooh yes! Yes...yes...yes....oh God. Oooh...yes. Yes. YES. YES! YES! YES! YES!” She breathes heavily and bites her lip, “Oh, god. Mmm...”

She opens her eyes and resumes eating her sandwich with a small smile like nothing had happened. John looks aghast, Mary looks proud, and Sherlock has to hide his grin behind his hand.

The waitress makes her way back over to their table and looks around rather concerned. “Is there anything else I can get you all?” she asks with a grimace.

Mary smiles up at her sweetly, “I’ll have what she’s having.”


End file.
